


Literary

by withering_roses



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Professor Dream, Slow Build, Student GeorgeNotFound, dreamnotfound, lgbtqa+, no happy endings for the wicked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withering_roses/pseuds/withering_roses
Summary: When George takes Greek Mythology as an extra class to fill his credits for the semester, he gets more than he bargained for when he realizes that his professor is actually kinda hot. [working desc.]
Relationships: Dream/GeorgeNotFound, dreamnotfound - Relationship
Comments: 31
Kudos: 254





	1. The Story of Achilles and Patroclus

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanna say, I gave Dream the last name Travis just incase it throws anyone off at first. Wilbur and Niki are also siblings in this and so are Dream and Sapnap. 
> 
> I will also be using Clay and Nick in this so :) if you don't like that, please move along.

Sometimes being a college student sucked. You never had enough money to go out, the communal bathrooms always seemed to be full when you needed them, and your professors never seemed to realize that you had more classes than just theirs. But that was just the start of the list, the tip of the iceberg, etcetera.

George could have listed every single issue with being a college student if he had the time or if he weren’t just so inherently lazy. Just sitting in class, more or less listening to the lecture, was exhausting. Like, not only did he have to get out of his way-too-small dorm room to get into class but then he had to listen and take notes for an entire hour-fifteen? Seemed a little too long for him.

But he supposed it helped that his professor, for this class, was a twenty-something-year-old blonde and not anything like the completely-ancient, already-deteriorating fossil his life sciences professor was.

Honestly, it was a shock that Professor Bines was even still allowed to teach with the way his skin seemed to melt off his bones and decay right in front of them. It was almost as if rigor mortis had set in for the man a good fifty or so years ago.

“Mr. Davis?”

George shook himself from his thoughts of his warm bed and looked up from his notes, most of which weren’t even legible. He made eye contact with his professor, who had his eyebrow raised in wait.

He cleared his throat. “Can you--” he cleared his throat again-- “Can you repeat the question?”

“The reading assigned last class,” the professor stopped right in front of him, casually leaning forward on the yardstick he’d repurposed into a pointer for the board. “Please summarize it for us.” He looked at George expectantly, fingers tapping against the wooden stick twice. “You did do the reading, right?”

George nodded, hastily flipping to the notes he had taken the night prior. Well, if you could even call them that. He had finished these notes at five in the morning, a mere four hours before he had to be here in class. Most of it was most likely gibberish, with tiny doodles of what could have been flowers in the corners. He grimaced at his shoddy work. Time management was never his strong suit and clearly, he needed improvement.

He found the page, his messy handwriting scrawled over the lined paper. He’d written down the side of the page and around the flowers at one point in an attempt to get all his thoughts down on one sheet.

“Achilles,” George read, “was one of the greatest warriors and heroes in Greek Mythology born to a King and a sea nymph. His mother, the sea nymph, wanted to protect him so she dumped him into the River Styx, only holding onto him by the heel. This made him invincible everywhere except the heel, which was his weak point. Also where we get the term ‘Achilles Heel’ today.”

He turned the notebook sideways. “He then went onto fight in the Trojan War, where he fought Troy, before meeting a woman that he then fell in love with. The Achaeans army’s leader then took her away from him and Achilles became too depressed to fight. Without Achilles, the Achaeans began to lose and as result, his best friend Patroclus died pretending to be him. Then after more fighting, the god Apollo guided Paris into shooting Achilles’s heel with his bow which ultimately led to his death."

“Good,” Professor Travis commented, pushing off his stick so that he was standing upright. He walked back over, reaching up for the projector screen and pulling it down until it clicked. “And what, Mr. Davis, are your thoughts about the story of Achilles? What were the questions you had while reading the piece? What, exactly, have you learned?”

George’s mind ran blank. Not only could he not remember a single discussion question but the sheer heat of the look Professor Travis was giving him made break out into a sweat. It was one of those looks that bore into his soul, splitting him open like an open-plan first floor with out-of-place French detailing along the archways.

The words “paint me like one of your French girls” briefly crossed his mind, which was strange. George had not watched Titanic, ever, and had also never seen that scene. He only knew what it was because his sister used it as a caption for her Instagram once. Their parents really weren’t happy about that when they found out about that one.

“Mr. Davis?”

George flipped back through his notebook, pulling out the handout pertaining to the questions. He skimmed over his notes, eyes landing on the first question mark he saw. He traced back to the beginning of the question with his finger, reading it without a second thought.

“Why were Achilles and Patroclus depicted as best friends here,” his face burned red as he realized the question he had chosen to ask, “instead of the lovers we’d learned about previously?”

“Good question. In the original writing, or else known as the one I had you guys read, Achilles and Patroclus were intended as best friends but as time went on, people, historians, deciphered that their friendship was too close for them to remain just as friends and figured that they were most likely lovers instead.” Professor Travis continued on with his lecture, gaze lingering on George before passing off to briefly glance around the room before ultimately returning to him.

From his right, his friend Wilbur leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Is it just me or is Professor Dreamy over there eying you up and down like a fresh piece of meat?”

George looked back over at Professor Travis, whose full attention was on the projector displaying a character chart portraying each and every relationship happening within the myth. 

He shook his head. “Professor Travis,” he emphasized the professor's real name, “was not eying me up and down like a ‘piece of fresh meat.’ He’s just looking at me like I’m his student.”

Wilbur scoffed. “Yeah, and Esfand looks at Niki like she’s his sister. C’mon, George, he’s definitely looking at you in some way.”

George rolled his eyes. There was no point in arguing, Wilbur would just keep pushing until he caved or was proven wrong and neither of those things seemed to be happening any time soon. It was ridiculous, just the thought of Professor Travis thinking about him in any other way than professional.

Plus, even if it _were_ something other than professional, George didn’t play for the other team. He’d tried once at a frat party during his Freshman year. Let’s just say it didn’t turn out as well as one would have hoped. Even drunk, George was straight and that’s just how it's been.

The only good thing that came out of that night was meeting Wilbur and Niki Soot, the two siblings separated at birth only to find each other once more in college by complete chance. It was a whole thing when they’d found out that having the last name “Soot” wasn’t as common as they thought.

But since then, they’d been George’s closest friends and even three years later, they’re still the first he’d call in any situation. Them and the late-transfer international student that they’d befriended named Floris, though they just called him Fundy on most days anyway.

“Your assignment for next class is to read and analyze both versions of _The Abduction of Persephone_ as well as answer the discussion questions that will be posted on the Blackboard later tonight,” Professor Travis concluded the lesson, pulling down on the projector screen and gently guiding it back up. “Good work today everyone, I’ll see you guys on Thursday.”

Everyone got up to leave, George taking his time to put his things away. There was no way he’d zoned out of the majority of the class. Sure, he’d done it before but at least when he zoned out he still knew half of what had happened that class. Today, he knew absolutely nothing.

“Mr. Davis.” George froze. How many times was his name going to get called today? He looked around, realizing that everyone had already left the lecture hall, before turning to give the professor his attention.

“Yes?”

“Good work today,” his professor praised. “But please tell Mr. Soot that if he’s going to call me ‘Professor Dreamy,’ at least make sure I’m out of earshot when he does.”

Professor Travis winked at him--yes, _winked_ \--before pulling his own messenger bag onto his shoulder and disappearing into his office, leaving George to stare after him open-mouthed.  


The door slammed shut, jerking him from his shocked stupor. There was no way in hell that Wilbur Soot was right. Professor Travis one-hundred percent did not have a thing for him and he would deny it to the ends of the Earth. All he was was being friendly and that was it.


	2. Niki's Entrance

“What happened?” Wilbur questioned, immediately suspicious after George emerged from the lecture hall bright red. He adjusted the grey beanie that sat on his head, looking around George to peer into the room. “Did you suck his dick or something? What happened?”

George turned an even brighter red, if possible. Hi practically turned into a space heater with the amount of embarrassment he felt rolling through his body, feeling almost lightheaded with how sick he felt. 

“I didn’t suck his dick,” George scolded his friend, trying to get him away from the door. While Professor Travis was no longer in his usual spot at the bottom of the room, he could still be seen through the frosted windows of his office and if they could see him, he could most definitely see them. “Don’t we have to meet up with your sister? She has that class with Esfand now and you know what happened last time we were late.” 

Wilbur’s playful demeanor dropped. While Esfand wouldn’t do anything to hurt Niki, he was rather… overbearing in his advances. Niki was just too nice to flat out tell him no, especially when his presence kept the presence of worse evils away. 

“Really,” Wilbur started walking first, tightening his scarf around his neck as he navigated his way back to the entrance of the building. George trudged behind, moving at a slower pace if only to give him a moment to calm down. “Was what happened with Professor Dreamy so terrible? I left you for what, two minutes, and you already have plans to elope with him?”

George grimaced. “You know, he heard you.”

Wilbur glanced back at him, his face showing obvious confusion. “Heard me what?”

“Heard you call him ‘Professor Dreamy,’ genius,” George pushed ahead of Wilbur to get out of the building. The cold air that immediately slapped him in the face did well to help hide his embarrassment. He could just pass his tomato-red features off as being cold, which seemed to be the only thing cold weather was good for. “And I don’t get why you insist that I get with Professor Travis. Number one, he’s our professor and I’m one of his students. I don’t know if you know this or not, but that's _illegal_. And number two, I’m straight. You were literally the one to call me the, and I quote, ‘most heterosexual fuck to ever walk the Earth.’”

“To be fair,” Wilbur stopped at the shuttle stop, reaching into his pocket for his student ID, “you are on the more sensitive side of being a heterosexual fuck. I mean, you fold your socks instead of rolling them inside each other.”

George pulled out his own student ID. “What’s wrong with folding my socks? That’s how my mum taught me. Rolling them inside each other just doesn't seem as practical.”

“Rolling them inside each other is how normal people put their socks away,” Wilbur deadpanned. The shuttle pulled up to the curb, letting off a group of students before Wilbur and George boarded. Surprisingly, they were the only two at the stop so once they were seated, the driver drove off without a second thought. 

Wilbur didn’t say anything more, giving his attention to his screen instead of continuing to argue. George pulled out his own device in an attempt to ward off any awkward space between them. See, the thing was, George was not an outwardly sexual person and quite frankly he didn’t think he’d ever really been one. While his high school friends were making sex noises at the back of the class, he was more focused on actually learning rather than doing whatever that was. 

The shuttle coasted across campus and quickly made what would have been a thirty-minute walk into a ten-minute drive even with all the post-class traffic. George stood as the shuttle rolled to a stop, grabbing onto one of the metal poles for support. He slid his phone back into his pocket. 

“Are you studying with the gang and me tonight?” Wilbur asked, stepping off the shuttle shortly after George. He thanked the driver, who promptly closed the doors in their faces. Wilbur made a face, glaring after the shuttle as it drove away. “What a sour man.”

“Probably doesn’t like your face,” George mentioned offhandedly, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “But no, I’ll probably head back to my dorm and then maybe go grocery shopping or something. My roommates out of town so I want to restock on cup ramen so I don’t have to keep living off of Tostito chips.”

“I almost forgot you had a roommate,” Wilbur commented, pulling a banana from his bag. He peeled it open, taking a bite out of it as he started walking toward the tall glass building at the other end of the courtyard. “What’s his name again? Chad?”

“First of all, his name is Karl,” George corrected him. “Secondly, how did you forget I had a roommate? You literally told him he looked like a twink just the other day.” 

Wilbur just shrugged. He had this odd habit of insulting people to their faces, which was a breather from a world of backstabbing and fake friends but also, words did hurt. Karl even hung back before leaving to ask George if Wilbur hated him. He then had to explain that Wilbur didn’t mean anything by calling him a twink and that being mean was really just how Wilbur showed affection. 

They came to a stop in front of the sign that read BRENER, denoting that this was, in fact, Brener building. The building housed most biology-focused majors with the greenhouse in the back, which is where Niki spent most of her time as a botany major. 

“So are you heading off on your own after seeing Niki?” Wilbur pulled his phone back out, most likely to inform the blonde that they were there. “Or do you want us to walk you to your dorms?”

George shrugged. On one hand, the company on the walk over would be nice but considering his dorm building was a short five-minute walk from this building, he figured he could go five minutes without his friends. 

“I’ll let you guys go meet up with Fundy,” he decided. He squinted up at the building toward the fifth floor. “I’ll keep you company until Niki shows up and just go back on my own after.”

“If you keep spending time alone, people are going to start thinking you’re a recluse.” 

George shrugged again. “I’m already halfway there. I mean, I’m a Comp Sci major that’s taking a Greek Mythology class in their second-to-last semester because they needed the credits. And strangely enough, I like taking the class. Maybe I’ll declare a last-minute Greek-something minor in my last half-year. Who knows?”

“And you complained when I asked you to take the class with me,” Wilbur teased, finishing off his banana. He tossed the peel, missing the center of the barrel and groaning when half the peel landed on the floor. “I’ve done this for how long now? And yet I still manage to miss the middle each time. This is the reason I don’t do sports.”

George gave him an odd look. “I think there are other reasons.”

Wilbur was, perhaps, the least athletic person he knew. Not only did he have two left feet but he also was practically shaped like a twig, not that George could talk. There was barely any muscle definition on either of them but while George played football in college, Wilbur participated in the arts--namely guitar lessons after school as well as helping out with the school musicals. 

The big clock on the front of the building turned three and shortly after, a flood of students emerged from the front doors. George straightened up, looking for the head of blonde hair that was sure to come their way. He would have left to his dorms before seeing Niki but it was tradition, at this point, for him to at least say hi to her on the days he had classes with Wilbur. 

When he finally saw her in the crowd, he stuck his hand in the air and waved, effectively gaining her attention. She grinned back, saying her goodbyes to Esfand before running over to where Wilbur was waiting with his arms open. She practically dove into his chest, squeezing tightly. George laughed as Wilbur’s eyes bugged out slightly as her grip grew tighter still. 

She finally let go, reaching her arms toward George who complied, allowing her to squeeze the air out of his lungs as well. 

“Are you coming with us to the cafe?” Niki asked, pulling out of his arms. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that we’re also going to Fundy’s art exhibit after.”

George and Wilbur looked at each other. They had completely forgotten about Fundy’s art exhibit proposal. 

“I have to go grocery shopping,” George said sheepishly. “But I promise I’ll be there after to support him. I’ll even pay for drinks after.”

She looked at him with a face that read, _Are you kidding me?_ but didn’t press the issue further. “I guess we’ll see you later then.”

“Niki, one-thousand push-ups. I promise I’ll be there,” he gave her two thumbs up and a grin. She rolled her eyes playfully, flicking one of his hands. “And while we’re talking about it, let's not tell Fundy about any of this, yeah?”

“How about if you show up in the dark blue suit I won't tell him any of this.”

“Why the dark blue--”

Niki cut him off. “Because you look better in the dark blue one than the black one,” she looked over at Wilbur, “and don’t worry, I’m making Will wear a suit as well. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

It was odd, how one girl had such a big influence on his life after years of barely being able to interact with the other gender. He sighed, not one of contempt but one of resignation.

“Fine,” he gave in. “I will wear the dark blue suit instead of the black one. Happy?”

“Very,” she grinned. She looped her arm through Wilbur’s and pulled him away after saying her goodbyes, blowing a kiss in George’s direction before they rounded the corner and disappeared from his sight. 


	3. The Art Show

“Stop fidgeting,” Niki scolded, slapping George’s hands away from his cuffs. He’d been nervously undoing and redoing his cufflinks for a solid five minutes as they waited for the hall to open. Wilbur, on the other hand, had already taken to talking to the people behind them in line, entertaining them with stories about God knows what. 

“I’m not fidgeting,” George argued back, rolling out his wrists and stopping his motions. Okay, so what if he was fidgeting? He hated being in a suit and the fact that he had to be in one for more than an hour was irritating him. Fundy was lucky they were good friends or else he would have left by then. “What’s the gallery about anyway? Like, what’s the theme?”

Wilbur turned from his newfound friends, slinging an arm around George’s shoulders. “The Ancients, my friend. This is an Art History show, according to what Fundy told us earlier.”

“The Ancients as in…”

“As in the Ancient Romans, Chinese, Greeks,” Wilbur wiggled his eyebrows up and down, “even worked with our favorite professor on his piece. Said Professor Travis even approached him and gave him the idea for his pieces.”

George felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He was definitely not over being embarrassed by what happened after class and here Wilbur was, talking so casually as if he hadn’t insinuated that George and the professor  _ got it on _ in the two minutes they were left alone. 

“He probably won't be here, though,” Wilbur continued, “Funday said his brother was in town or something so they’re probably spending time together.”

“Far away from here, I hope,” George shrugged his friend’s arm off his shoulder, before returning to a comfortable slouch. Niki scolded him yet again, this time telling him to stand straight. 

The line started moving as the doors opened, the chattering picking up as people spread out around the room in order to get the first look at the various pieces that lined the walls. Niki grabbed both Wilbur and George’s hands, pulling them toward Fundy at the back of the room with enthusiasm. 

“Fundy!” she cheered, letting go of their hands and throwing her arms around his lanky figure. He laughed, hugging her back and thanking her in that Dutch accent they knew well. “You look nice.”

Fundy took a step back and fixed his tie jokingly. He brushed off his shoulders for added effect, gaining a slew of giggles from Niki. “I told you I clean up nicely. And look,” he turned around, showing them the backs of his pants, “no accidental paint marks!”

George gave him a critical once-over. “You sure about that?” He pretended to lock eyes on a spot of paint on the back of his left leg. 

Fundy panicked, turning around and trying to get a good look at his leg before George gave in, laughing and reassuring his friend that there was no paint to be found. Wilbur lightly smacked the back of his head, chastising him for his meaningless prank. He didn’t stay angry for long, rolling his eyes and laughing along.

“Almost got me really good there, buddy,” Fundy laughed. He rocked back onto his heels, clearing his throat. He gestured to the canvas next to him. “Well, here’s one of my pieces. I’m really proud of this one.”

George looked over at the painting, the golds and greys immediately capturing his attention. The boy laying on the ground, scarlet red spilled out around him as the too-big armor gave way to the blade stuck out directly from his sternum. His gaze shifted upwards, following the sword’s blade until it reached the intricately woven hilt, jumping to the grief-stricken features of the man crouched over the boy. 

He knew exactly what this piece was,  _ The Story of Achilles and Patroclus _ , painted so beautifully haunting for them to see. The boy, or rather lover, laid on the ground had dark brown hair and eyes colored not so far from his own. It was odd, even the features seemed to match his own, not that he spent too long looking at himself each morning. 

George chalked it up to self-reflection or some bullshit like that. He looked over at the man hovered over him--Patroclus--and held his breath in awe. 

The man, now that George had gotten to take a moment to look at him, was beautiful. The way his blond hair fell in front of his face but framed it rather than hid it, his piercing green eyes and his historically-accurate and muscular body all shielding Patroclus from further harm. 

In his eyes, he saw love and admiration but the rest of his face relayed pain. “Remember my eyes,” he seemed to be saying, coaxing Patroclus’s attention away from the hurt he felt. 

“The Story of Achilles and Patroclus,” a voice said. George felt a figure stop right behind him before seeing a hand move upward to point at the golden apple in the center of the sword’s hilt. “The Golden Apple is a good touch, very reminiscent of how the war between the Trojans and the Acheans started in the first place.” 

George didn’t want to turn around for fear of seeing Achilles--Professor Travis-- standing right there, right behind him. The hand retracted and he felt his professor take a step back, listening as Fundy gushed about the piece. 

“Hey,” he nudged Niki, “I’m gonna go look for a bathroom. I’ll be back.”

She looked at him with concern. “Do you want me to go with you? I’ll wait outside if you want.”

He shook his head. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine. Waiting in line just made me need to go,” he tried to make light of the situation. Hesitantly, she let him go. 

When they became friends, Niki automatically took on the motherly role of the group and no one had any qualms about it. She made sure they were all safe and that no one wound up in jail, which was a person they very much needed in their lives. 

He broke away from the group, walking to the other end of the hall all while following the signs clearly marked as heading toward the restrooms. He traveled down the hall for a bit before realizing that he was nowhere near the bathrooms and was now by the managerial end of the function hall. 

He opened a door, curious to see what was inside, only to find cleaning supplies and two turned over buckets. People probably came in here to get away or even to make out. The school did rent the hall out to high school functions sometimes and George was sure that the nasty had been done in here at least twice before he’d found it. 

“Mr. Davis?” 

George froze up, knowing that voice from a mile away. He heard the sound of dress shoes dully hitting the floor behind him before the voice was less than a foot away. 

“Mr. Davis, you do know that the art show is that way, right?”

George turned around to see Professor Travis pointing behind him with his thumb. He held a small smirk on his face, looking a little too smug to have caught George doing nothing. He took a step back as his professor took a small step forward. 

“Professor--” 

The next two seconds happened in slow motion. Professor Travis let go of the door and it swung shut, the impact forcing the doorknob from the door. They both watched as the now useless piece of metal clattered loudly to the floor, settling on its side as his professor swore under his breath. 

George pushed past him, trying to stick his fingers in the door hole and pull but found his attempts were futile. He picked up the doorknob from the ground and realized that this door locked from the outside, which meant they were trapped. 

Great. 

“This is probably a bad time to tell you that you’re missing an assignment in my class,” Professor Travis joked, eyes wide as George tried to force open the door once more but remained unsuccessful.

“Not the best time, professor,” George huffed, kicking the door lightly before giving up and slumping over onto one of the overturned buckets. What made it worse was that the light above them barely had any life left in it, which meant they would be in darkness sooner or later. 

“You know you don’t have to call me professor outside of class, right?” his professor said. “Calling me Clay would be fine. Or Professor Dreamy… but I guess that’s more of Mr. Soot’s thing.”

“You’re really getting a kick out of this, huh?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Professor Travis, or rather, Clay said. “I’ll just text the janitor of this building, Jerry, and he’ll come and get us.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, turning it on before all expression dropped from his face. He cleared his throat, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Or not.”

George looked at him confused. “Or not? What do you mean, ‘or not’?”

“No service,” Clay sighed. He slumped down onto the bucket next to George. “And the wifi is down for maintenance today, got the email this morning.”

George looked at him in confusion. “Then what is the art show running on?”

“Professor Harris brought his own wifi thing, I don’t know,” he looked up at the barely-alive lightbulb, “and by the state of that, we’ll be in darkness soon so I hope you’re not afraid of the dark.”

“I’m not.” He was. 

“Good.”

And then, as if on cue, the light flickered out, plunging them both into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, yes I went through and edited things because I just found out that George doesn’t actually like his full name being spread. So not a huge change but I’ll be using George Davis from here on out!
> 
> ALSO, thank you guys so much for the support on here! I actually love you all so very much /p and can’t wait to write more for you all!!


	4. Out of the Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends <3
> 
> sorry it took so long i forgot i existed and then slammed my fingers in a dryer on accident which made it hard to type. I made this one longer as an apology for making you wait so long for the next update, I hope you accept :)

“So I take it you’re afraid of the dark.”

George didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept his gaze forward as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He’d taken his glasses off by then. He didn’t need to see color in the dark. In fact, there was no color to see. He shoved them into his front pocket, not caring if his pocket square got messed up. 

He heard Clay shuffle closer, lightly kicking the bucket before moving it until he was in George’s limited line of vision. “You know,” he crouched down, pushing the bucket under him until he was sitting, “it’s okay if you are. Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“I’m not  _ afraid _ ,” George stressed, blinking his eyes. He drew his own device, using what little light he had to at least see who he was talking to. “I just get nervous in dark rooms and small spaces and with men that I don’t know very well.” 

Clay raised an eyebrow, which George could just barely make out. “I’m your professor, George. I’m not going to do anything and even if I wasn’t your professor, I wouldn’t do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable.” 

George didn’t say anything. For some reason, all he could think of was Fundy’s painting of  _ The Story of Achilles and Patroclus _ and how his professor, the very one sitting in front of him, was the very one to basically dictate every stroke, every color, every caress… And the fact that Achilles was a reflection of Clay probably wasn’t a coincidence. 

Or was he thinking too far into this? There were plenty of pretty blonde boys and other brunet men that looked strikingly similar to himself. Not everything had to revolve around him and his constant innermost turmoil. 

Not that there was any turmoil to be had. There was no question about it, Clay was attractive and Wilbur calling him “Professor Dreamy” was not a longshot from the truth. And the way he talked about Greek Mythology itself would make one think he’d actually lived through the events himself. George wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually a demigod in disguise, retelling his own perilous tales and adventures. 

“Well, someone’s bound to notice we’ve gone missing,” Clay said, turning his phone’s flashlight on. It provided more light than George’s screen which was good considering he’d broken his flashlight months ago and hadn’t been arsed to replace it. Worst case scenario would be that he would have to bed his parents to send him money overseas. 

“I told Niki I was going to the bathroom so she’ll probably send out a search party if I’m not back within the hour,” George semi-joked. Niki wouldn’t exactly send out a search party but he wouldn’t put it past her to pull Wilbur and Fundy out of the event to help look for him. 

George stood back up, jostling the bucket lightly backward as he made his way back over to the door. He crouched to inspect it, debating between sticking his finger in the hole where the doorknob has come off and straight up attempting to kick the door down. Keyword being “attempting.” He’d never kicked or punched a wall before let alone kicked a door down. 

“I wouldn’t even try to kick the door down,” Clay said, talking him out of his thought process. George frowned.  _ How did he know? _

“Trust me,” Clay continued, “the janitor’s closets are made with school shootings in mind--not that we’re going to have any campus shooters. They’re just reinforced just in case.”

He scoffed, lighting kicking the bottom of the frame with his foot. “Because that’s comforting.”

“It is!” The professor backtracked. “I mean, it can be… If you're worried about school shooters or people like that. I don’t know, I’m sorry.” 

George internally groaned. There was no way. His thoughts spun in circles as he tried to think of ways as well as debate his own sexuality in his head. The more Clay talked, the less George seemed to have a grip on his own reality and the more he was losing the battle in his mind. It was all very confusing and convoluted that if his life were a book, he’d feel very sorry for the author. 

“No,” George sighed, “it’s fine. Sorry, I’m just a bit stressed about other things and I took my frustration out on you. I’m the one that’s sorry.”

Clay got up silently, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shuffled over to where George was standing. He didn’t meet his eye, instead choosing to look down at the ground dejectedly. Clay bent down slightly so that his face was directly in George’s line of sight. 

“Would you want to talk about it?”

On one hand, it would be great to be able to talk to someone but on the other, George knew virtually nothing about this guy beside the fact that he once went to a renaissance fair in twenty-sixteen, entered into a competition based around wrestling crocodiles, and won. Other than that, Clay Travis was a complete and total stranger to him. 

His wariness must have shown on his face because Clay backed off, shrugging slightly. “I know you know nothing about me but really, bottling it all up is never good.”

_ How did he do that? _

“Here,” he said, “I’ll start. I was born and raised in Florida, I have two sisters and two brothers, one of which lives on-campus, but not with me. My brother that lives up here’s name is Nick. He’s nineteen and studying computer science--like you, actually. Uh, I’m twenty-five, got my PhD when I was twenty-one, had my first boyfriend when I was twenty, and--oh! I really like Greek Culture and Mythology.”

George tried to process all the information he’d just received from one of his brothers being named Nick--which was one of Karl’s best friend’s names coincidentally--to the fact that he’d gotten his PhD at twenty-one, which was extremely impressive. Most people turned thirty-three before getting a PhD so Clay was already twelve years ahead of the game no matter what he did. 

Oh, and not to mention the totally subtle part where Clay snuck in the fact that he’d had his first boyfriend at twenty. The way he mentioned it in the past tense made George think that he was single now--or at least newly. There was no way his oh-so-charming professor had maintained a relationship for less than a year. Who would ever want to break up with him?

Unless he broke up with the other guy. Then that was a whole different story and his ex probably deserved it. 

What was George even talking--thinking--about? Boyfriends and shit, he’s barely even had a girlfriend let alone a partner of the same gender. And as Wilbur said, George was the straightest fuck he’d ever met even if he did fold his socks instead of rolling them. 

“What about you?” Clay asked, shaking him from his thoughts. “I know you have a sister but what about Wilbur and, uh Niki? And Fundy? How’d you meet them?”

“Well…” George thought back to the night, “I met Wilbur and Niki at a party during Freshman year. Niki found me purging my dinner into a bonsai tree’s roots in front of Kappa Omega Kappa and basically just stuck by me the entire time. Will came later when she called him to bring me water, which was nice of him. I met Fundy later on through Will and Niki in the library when he ran in ranting about how one of his professors accidentally spilled paint on his canvas but that it was okay because there was a plastic covering on it or something. I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention, but we’ve all been close friends since.”

“Seems like it.” Clay picked up his phone, angling it toward the broken doorknob. The broken part was in pieces on the floor, having been pushed off to the side. “Maybe there’s a toolbox or something in here. If I can’t jimmy the door open we can use it as a battering ram and I’ll just pay additional damages later or something.” 

He gave George his phone, abandoning the door for the shelves. To George, it seemed there were more cleaning products than actual tools and more dust bunnies than any other… animal. Being clever came at a cost that he was not ready to pay. 

After a few moments of rummaging through, Clay came back with a flathead screwdriver and a smaller Phillips, which wouldn’t fit in the door at all. 

“You could take off the hinges,” George suggested, looking at the door. Since it swung inward that meant that they had access to that part of the door. And in retrospect, that also meant that kicking down the door wouldn’t work. At least it wouldn’t from the inside. 

Clay rolled his shoulders back, taking off his blazer before setting to work. George picked up the article of clothing, draping it over his arm as he aimed the light at the door.

For the most part, they worked in silence. There was the occasional shuffle of feet but other than that, they didn’t talk. It wasn’t until the screwdriver slipped and Clay let out a curse that the silence was broken, George speaking out of concern. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer. Clay shook out his hand, nodding as he massaged it. He’d dropped the screwdriver by then, the loud clatter on the floor being ignored out of worry for the older man. 

“I’ll be fine,” Clay said, bending back over to pick the screwdriver up. “I’ll ice it when we get out of this closet. I already did that in high school, I didn’t need to go through this again.”

George bit the inside of his cheek. “When you came out… how, uh, how did you--”

“How did I know?” 

He nodded. It wasn’t even surprising anymore that Clay just seemed to anticipate what he was going to say next. It must have been some sort of teacher-sixth sense or something. 

“Uh, I think I’ve always known. My friends used to say that I was the straightest person they knew so it came as a surprise to them but my mom said that she always saw it coming. I still played football like any other kid but instead of staying late at practice to watch the cheerleaders I would go over to the soccer field and watch the boys' team practice instead.”

“You were a jock?”

Clay looked at him with an  _ Are you serious? _ kind of look. “Is that all you took from what I said?”

George shrugged. “I never really pictured you as the type to actually play sports. Watch them, yeah, but play? Never.”

“Wide receiver,” Clay told him. “But I only played football for a year or so before making the switch to hockey and then deciding that I didn’t want to play a sport and decided to focus on, well, getting a PhD.” 

“But your mum,” George furrowed his brows, “she knew the entire time?”

He nodded in confirmation, getting the last hinge off the door. It creaked before it came out of the frame, hitting the ground before starting to fall inward. George pocketed the phone and went forward to help bring the door out and to the side. 

“My mom knew the entire time. There’s not much you can hide from a mother, George.”

They set the door down, officially being able to see into the hallway outside the closet. Clay took his blazer back, shrugging it on before holding his hand out for his device. George gave it to him, head full of thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having.

The clicking of heels from the other end of the hall resounded off the walls, echoing in the empty hall around them. George stepped out of the closet as Niki rounded the corner, a look of relief on her face. 

“I was so worried, George,” she fussed, taking his face into her hands and inspecting him as his own mother would. She took his glasses from his front pocket, fixing his pocket square before handing the glasses back. 

Clay stepped out from behind him, a gentle smile on his face. 

“Professor Travis,” Niki said in surprise. She looked between the two of them, pursing her lips together before looking over at the professor. “Thank you for finding him.”

The professor shrugged. “It was no big deal, Miss. Soot.” Then, to George, “I’ll see you in class on Thursday, Mr. Davis. Have a good night.”

George nodded at him, watching as Clay walked past them and back into the main room.  _ Have a good night.  _


	5. The Abduction of Persephone

He was late. George Davis was officially late for his first class of the day and to make matters worse, Wilbur had just texted to let him know that their professor was also late in what was arguably the worst way possible: By sending him the most R-rated pieces of text he’d ever read. The last thing he needed was a University scandal that would most likely result in his expulsion and the end of his, admittedly, favorite professor’s career even if the rules of fraternization between professors and their students were practically non-existent. Don’t ask how he knew that, just know that he does his research.

But here was where his dilemma began and only got worse. Since the beginning of time George was known to be painfully straight. He'd had two girlfriends and had never once looked in the direction for another man. 

Well there was Justin Hallard in the Year Nine but boys around the American middle school years were disgusting and gross and by the time he was the equivalent to an American Freshman, he’d chalked the “crush” up to nothing but a weird bout of admiration. 

And that’s probably what this was now, admiration, because what was not to be admired about his professor. Clay was barely into his adult years and already had a stable job and had most likely already paid off his debt. Not only that but, and George would admit that Professor Clay Travis was extremely attractive. Not to mention the fact that the man had a doctorate for fuck’s sake. George would even bet that he drove a nice car like the Lexus coming down the street, its driver becoming increasingly familiar as it approached the curb and slowed to a stop next to him.

Well,  _ fuck _ . 

Not only did George recognize the man sitting in the driver’s seat, he couldn’t help but to nod and profusely thank him as his body moved without his permission, opening the car door and getting in. His hand went to the seat belt and pulled it over him as he listened for the click, only realising what he had done once they had pulled away from the curb. 

“Nice car,” George managed, finding himself unable to conjure any proper thoughts or even a morsel of wit when sitting next to the man he had just been thinking about. He turned red at the thought. 

“Thanks,” Clay grinned wide, looking over at George as they rolled up to the parking gate. “How was your weekend after, you know, we came out of the closet.” 

George stiffened-- _ How did he know? _ \-- and then he relaxed, not that there was anything to know. Coming out of the closet was the most anti-climactic event of the night after Clay left. Niki had fussed over him a bit longer before he managed to convince her that he was one-hundred percent fine and would be able to get home on his own.

Once he’d arrived in his dorm, he met his roommate’s friend, Nick, before they headed off to stay at Nick’s older brother’s for the entire weekend. Honestly, the dorm to himself was something he needed. It allowed him to finish his homework and, well, freak out even more. 

He’d been doing a lot of that recently--freaking out--and he had no doubt that it was all due to the blond professor sitting next to him, looking at him expectantly. 

He flushed even redder, if possible, and cleared his throat. “I-I’m sorry, what did you say? Zoned out for a second.”

“How was your weekend?”

George nodded, “It was good, got some homework done… nothing really special. You?”

“My brother, Nick, had his friend over the entire weekend so they kept me busy,” Clay told him as he pulled into a space. “I forgot how much energy college students could have.”

Despite the fact that George was still a college student himself, he understood what Clay was saying. His roommate, Karl, was always on the move and especially since his friend, Nick, came to visit campus--

If George had been drinking water, he would have choked on it or spat it out dramatically like they do in the movies. In fact, he was surprised he didn’t choke on his own saliva. There was no way Nick, Clay’s younger brother, was the same as Nick as Karl’s best friend Nick since primary school. There were maybe fifty-thousand people named Nick in this state alone, not to mention the rest of the world. It was simply a coincidence, he tried to convince himself. 

They got out of the car, Clay hanging behind to lock it while George debated with himself if it would be rude to go up without him or not. In the end, he chose to wait, messing with the leather strap of the messenger bag Niki had gotten him in the “continuous fight to elevate his style.”

Her words, not his.

They maintained their casual conversation though there was not much more to learn about each other outside what two almost-strangers should know. George already knew that his favorite color was green and that he had a younger brother that was in his first year of college and Clay already knew that his favorite color was blue and that he was an only child and was here on scholarship. 

There really wasn’t much more for two basically-strangers to know about each other without becoming friends or otherwise. 

Once they finally got upstairs, after what seemed like an eternity of slow-moving elevators, George entered the classroom first and quickly took up the seat next to Will as Clay strolled in casually after him. Wilbur looked at him with wide eyes as he sunk into his seat. 

“George I was fucking joking,” he whispered harshly, pulling him closer by his sleeve, “I didn’t think you actually went and grew the balls to actually fuck the professor!”

He shushed him hurriedly, looking around if anyone had overheard their conversation before swatting his friend away and pulling his textbook and laptop from his bag. “I didn’t sleep with the guy. He just saw me at the shuttle stop and gave me a ride, y’know, like a  _ gentleman _ .” 

Wilbur gave him a suspicious look but let it go, turning to face front while Clay-- _ Professor Travis _ \--welcomed them all back to class. George watched as he pulled down the projector screen, locking it in place before turning the projector on, the presentation popping up onto the screen a second later. 

“Today, we’re learning about the Abduction of Persephone,” Clay looked out at the classroom. “I had you read two versions, one in which Hades is portrayed as the villain and the other in which Hades is not. Who can tell me which version is to be regarded as the most accurate?”

Class continued on as normal, George took his notes and generally avoided all eye-contact with everyone while Wilbur made snarky remarks under his breath to which he was sure Clay had heard. After class, he made sure that he and Wilbur were the first ones out, grabbing his things and shoving them in his bag before proceeding to grab Wilbur’s things and essentially yanking the taller man out of the lecture hall. Hopefully he’d left nothing behind because he really but couldn’t be bothered to stop and check. 

“What's the rush?” Will asked, fixing his coat as George all but pulled him out of the building. “It’s not like Niki has class with Esfand today and we’ve got time before lunch with Fundy. Besides--” 

“I think my roommate is best friends with Clay--Professor Travis’s younger brother,” George cut him off.

George wanted to slap the shit-eating grin Wilbur gave him as he realized the predicament. “Oh, so this was about your crush on our professor, yeah?”

He sputtered, “N-no, it's not, I mean,” he groaned in annoyance, “Will, I’ve never like--”

“Had feelings for a guy? Even liked guys in general?” Will shrugged, “We’ve all been there. Sexuality is a confusing thing, always changing, always fluid. I might tease you about this but I don’t want you to try to force a sexuality on yourself. It’s all jokes, G and just know that Niki, Fundy, and I will always be there for you no matter what.”

“Thanks, Wilbur.”

He gave half a laugh, clapping his hand onto George’s shoulder. “And besides, if your roommate’s friend is actually Professor Travis’s brother then at least you have an in now. ‘A spy on the inside,’ or whatever.”

The shuttle arrived within the next minute and they boarded, resuming their comfortable silence next to one another and as Wilbur pulled his phone out to pass the time, George was left to pat down his pockets in confusion. He could have sworn that he had had his phone in one of them before he’d left the lecture hall. 

“Will,” he sighed as realization washed over him.

“Yeah?”

“I left my phone in the lecture hall.”

“Goddamnit, Gogy,” Will looked over at him. “I’ll send the professor an email or something, see if he has any classes for the rest of the day. Maybe Fundy can drive you later or something.” He paused, a smirk pulling across his face. “Or you could ask Karl to ask the professor’s brother.”

“Be realistic for a second, Wilbur,” he scowled, “even if I did have the balls to do that, it’ll be nighttime before I talk to Karl again. Can you just call Professor Travis’s office number or something.”

George watched as Wilbur rolled his eyes, pulling up the syllabus on his phone and clicking on the office number at the top. George listened to half the conversation, Clay picking up within the second ring and Wilbur laughing as he explained the situation. 

“Alright, thanks Professor,” Will ended the call, sliding his phone into his pocket as the bus slowed to a stop. “He’s got your phone, found it in his car when he went to pick his brother and Karl up.” 

George let out a sigh of relief. At least his device was with someone he knew and not just sitting on the lecture hall floor for someone to steal. It wasn’t that he couldn’t just get another one, his parents were disgustingly rich after all, it was just the fact that he didn’t want to have to always rely on them for things. If he had told them that he’d lost another phone, they would be a little more than disappointed. 

They got off the shuttle, Will before George, and made their way to the spot they always waited at. Thirty minutes passed, mostly full of dumb jokes and more of Wilbur teasing George, before students came pouring out of the building. Niki found them quickly, linking their arms together and excitedly telling them about her day so far as they headed to the cafe down the street. 

The bell chimed as they opened the door, finding Fundy at their usual table. He greeted them with a grin and, unsurprisingly, had paint smeared across his left cheekbone. Niki parted from the two of them, making her way over to their friend to let him know about the red acrylic that had made its way onto his features. 

“Do you ever stop to think about how life would have been if you and Niki never reunited, if Fundy never decided to leave the fancy art institute he went to,” he paused, “if I never went to that party?”

“I don’t like to think about it,” Wilbur admitted. “I mean, we’re all here now and that’s what matters. There’s no point in contemplating the what-ifs, George, just live life as it comes and be grateful for what you’ve got. Maybe even take some chances. That way, you never have to worry about the what-ifs.”

“When the fuck did you get so wise?”

“Since you actually started to listen to what I had to say,” he jested, lightly shoving George to the side. He chuckled as they walked over to the table, Will taking the seat next to Niki on the bench while Fundy took back his seat at one of the chairs, leaving George to take the last seat across from Niki. 

“So Professor Calbratta gave us the new guidelines for the new unit but the thing is we’re supposed to be working on unconventional canvases,” Fundy told them as he distributed the near-scalding cups of coffee. “And I was thinking, if you guys wanted to, that I could use the human form as my canvas. Specifically your human forms.”

“Like nude painting?” Wilbur asked. He mixed in a packet of sugar to his coffee, tasting it before continuing, “I mean, if you wanted to see me naked so badly you could have just asked.”

“No!” Fundy protested, making a face of disgust. “You’d be wearing like nude-colored underwear and stuff. No one will be seeing anyone's things and stuff. I’ll just be painting  _ on  _ you.”

George shrugged. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do and besides, helping Fundy with his art was always a fun experience. “I’m down. When is the project due?”

“Next week,” he explained. “We worked on drafting today and presentations are happening during Studio next Friday so I’ll need to get the actual painting done on by, like, Wednesday or something.”

Niki furrowed her eyebrows, looking up from her own beverage. “Isn’t next Friday also when George’s mum is coming for a visit?”

“I can still help with the project.” George looked over at Fundy apologetically, “I just probably won’t be able to attend the presentations.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fundy waved him off. “Being a canvas is enough already, enjoy your time with your mum.”

In all honesty, George had totally forgotten about his mother’s impending visit. Of course, he had only gone home that summer for maybe a week before heading back to America so it was fair that his mother missed him and wanted to spend more “quality time” with him. You know, seeing as she was getting old. 

The weirdest thing, however, about this visit was that his father wasn't going with her. Instead, he’d opted to stay in their mansion of a house. George didn’t blame him though. The house was warm and also extremely lavish. If he lived there he wouldn’t want to leave either. It was a massive upgrade from his childhood home and something both his parents deserved. 

The cafe bell chimed as new guests came in, pulling George from his thoughts. His friends had moved onto studying for their own classes, Niki was working on whatever smart people worked on while Fundy researched more topics for his non-conventional canvas project. Wilbur, on the other hand, seemed extremely interesting in whoever had just walked in through the door.

He only had a second to even thinking to question it before there was a tap on his shoulder. 

George jumped slightly, turning in his seat to face his savior of the day. He took his phone from the man’s outstretched hand. “Thank you, Clay. Uh, did you follow us here or…?”

Clay laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, my brother and his friend wanted to stop in for a coffee and when I saw you guys here I figured I could give you your phone now instead of making you come back to the lecture hall later.”

Behind him, George could see Karl and Nick ordering from the barista, both facing away from them. He wondered if Clay had told them who he was or if he’d just said he was returning something to a friend. From the way Karl hadn’t come over to greet him, he figured they were in the dark about the situation. 

In his hand, his phone buzzed, a text message from Will appearing on the screen. It was a semicolon followed by a close-parenthesis, or else known as a wink. George took a deep breath, thinking back to the conversation he’d just had with Wilbur. Maybe, his friend was right. Maybe if he took more chances, he  _ would  _ have less what-ifs to worry about. Living life as it came seemed worth a shot and how Clay kept appearing in his life, it seemed like the universe was trying to let him know something. 

“Hey,” he looked up at the blond, “how about coffee or lunch sometime, on me? You know, as a thank you for giving me a ride this morning and bringing back my phone.”

“Sounds great,” Clay grinned, taking his hand and scribbling his number on the palm. To George, the marker seemed to materialize out of thin air but before he could comment on it, Clay had hidden it away again. The blond tapped on his palm twice and winked. “You’ve got my number.”

And with that, he walked away. George turned back to the table, face most likely redder than it's ever been as the residual adrenaline coursed through his veins. Will looked at him in surprise. 

“You actually did it,” he said, gobsmacked. “Like, proper did it. Holy shit, man.”

“Holy shit is right,” he replied in the same amount of disbelief. He looked down at his palm, taking a moment to put the number in his phone before he forgot. He used that moment to fully process what had just happened before looking back up at Will. “Well, fuck. I’ve got a date now, haven’t I?”

“Well you’ve got to plan it first, mate.”

Right. He’d mentioned coffee or lunch and one definitely held more romantic connotations than the other did. He froze.

“Wait, what if he doesn’t think it's a date?”

“Then you should ask him,” Niki spoke up, pointing out the obvious. “Misunderstanding and terrible communication are the top two leading plot devices used in many terrible books and shows.”

“Well good thing this is real life and not a terrible book with inconsistent uploads,” Fundy deadpanned, looking just passed Niki’s shoulder as if someone were sitting there. When George looked, there was no one but he decided not to question it. 

Instead, he nodded sagely as he took in his friends’ advice. He would not let miscommunication become a driving plot point in his life, or whatever point Niki was trying to get across. “I’ll send a text later and clear it up,” he pursed his lips, “probably. We’ll see.”

Niki gave him a look similar to disapproval before shaking her head and returning to her schoolwork. 

“Just won’t worry about it,” Will offered his own advice. “You do what you feel feels right. I believe in you.”

He sighed, offering Wilbur a weak grin. If only George believed in himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% did not write this during dream's stream today because i forgot i actually had to update no nope anyways here u go:)


	6. Jenny Gallagher

The last time George went on a date was about five years ago with a friend of a friend named Jenny Gallagher. She was blonde, not that it mattered, and incredibly well mannered when she wanted to be. He’d get into that later but the important thing was that on their very first date, she’d gotten him a ring with her initials carved into it and even though they hadn’t been together for four of those five years, he still wore the ring. 

He wore the ring, not because he was still or ever in love with her, but because he literally could not take the damn thing off for the entire first week he had it. So, out of pure laziness or general forgetfulness, he kept it on. Jenny had been happy with that, seeing as she had gifted it to him before they’d even started dating but when they broke up it only served as a painful reminder of what they had. At least, to Jenny it did. George was majorly indifferent about the entire situation. 

The ring wasn’t anything special either. Her name was on the inside, hidden from view with no other decorations or embellishments. To anyone that didn’t know the story, all it was was a simple silver band but to Wilbur, who knew the story, it was fucking hilarious. 

George had called his friend in a panic when he realized that he really couldn’t get the ring off. The five years of wearing it had managed to weld the silver to his skin and even though he knew that was basically impossible, it didn’t take much to convince him that the fiction was fact. 

“I’m serious, Wilbur,” George protested, pulling at the ring. “Stop laughing! I’ve been sitting here for an hour trying to get it off. The thing is stuck to me forever. I’m going to have Jenny Gallagher’s name on me permanently like a fucking brand.”

“Did you try lotion?” Wilbur asked through his laughter, repositioning his phone so that it was propped up against a few books allowing George to see his full face properly. His hair was a mess, seeing as he had just woken up from a nap, and the shitty desk light he had made it so that half his face was still cast in shadow. 

“Did I try lotion?” George mocked, holding up his lotion-covered hand. “Of course I tried lotion!” 

“Maybe ice your finger?” he suggested. “Your finger is probably swollen or something from tugging on it. Ice will bring your finger swelling down and you should be able to get it off then. If not, we can just bring you to like a blacksmith or something to get it cut off.”

“I’m not letting some rando near my finger with a metal saw,” he immediately protested. Making his way over to his mini fridge, he pulled open the top section in search of ice. When he couldn’t find any, he opted for the bag of peas that he was sure were past date, mostly only having been used in instances of injury. 

He wrapped a thin towel around the bag before holding it to his hand. He really didn’t need these dramatics today but if he was going to go on a date, or not date, with his professor he might as well start severing old relationships that meant little to him in the long run. Harsh words but it was true. Jenny was not the best of girlfriends, the silver ring being the only truly kind thing she’d done for him. 

George had also decided against texting Clay for  _ clarification _ . He had proposed the idea of coffee as a form of payment, of thanks, for his acts of kindness. This was strictly business, as one would say but the small voice at the back of his head said otherwise. If this was strictly business as he had been convinced then why did he care so much about removing this ring?

To him, the band meant nothing but a tether that kept him loyal in some weird and twisted way to the girl that thought apple juice was an adequate birthday present for someone that preferred orange juice. Not that George drank juice in the first place. He was more of a coffee-tea-and-beer type of guy than anything. 

Once he was sure his finger was less swollen than two minutes ago, he tried again. With the combined efforts of a less-swollen finger, the residual lotion from attempts prior, and his own brute strength, he managed to pry the cursed piece of metal off his finger. It slipped out of his grip, shooting across the room and landing on Karl’s side of the room. It spun on the ground for only a moment before falling flat. 

“I got it off,” George announced, massaging his finger. He didn’t doubt that the impression would last for a while. From the cold of the bag of peas and the general tugging he had just done, his finger was bright red and throbbing. He grabbed a tissue, wiping the lotion off before taking up another piece to grab the ring. He cleaned the lotion off the silver as well, reading Jenny’s name on the inside before dropping it into one of his desk drawers to be found at a later time. 

“That’s good,” Wilbur replied, his tone bland. “I still don’t get why you kept it on for four entire years after you’d broken up with the girl. No doubt she still thinks she has a chance with you even if you meant nothing by it.”

“I haven’t spoken to Jenny since the last day of Upper Sixth,” George shook his head. “I doubt she even really remembers who I am. She’s also dating this kid from the year ahead of us that dropped out of college, I’m pretty sure.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, scooting closer to his camera. “And how do you know this?”

“My mother,” George deadpanned. “She’s got this twisted delusion that Jenny and I are going to get back together and have a barnful of kids. Jenny was her favorite out of the whopping two girlfriends I’ve had.”

Sarcasm laced his words, dancing off his tongue and landing on the words he’d intended. It was true, between Jenny G. and Ashley F., his mother favored the former. Jenny would always offer to clean up after dinner and became someone for his mother to shop for. Ashley was the opposite seeing as they were in Year Nine and also barely teenagers. The most Ashley did that his mother liked was folding her own blanket after movie nights.

“So what’s she going to say when you graduate in May with Professor Travis awaiting as a potential suitor?” 

“She doesn’t even know I’m not straight,” George pursed his lips, “I don’t even know if I’m not straight. I know you said sexuality was fluid and whatever but I seriously cannot see me doing, well, anything with another guy. Like holding hands and whatever, yeah, but anything else--”

“You could just not have any sexual attraction to anyone,” Wilbur mentioned casually. “Asexuality isn’t as far-fetched an idea. I mean, from what you’ve told me with you in general, I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned ever being genuinely sexually attracted to anyone. You could always talk to Niki about that though, I’m not as knowledgeable as she is.” 

They’d had this conversation before--when Niki came out to them as asexual herself. There was a lot of hugging and attempts at beginning to educate each other with what little they knew. Niki had given them the basic definition, seeing as they were all tipsy and would do better with a more thorough explanation without aid of alcohol. 

The conversation never came, however, as the school year picked up and they each became increasingly busy in their own respective majors, things fell through the cracks. Maybe it was time for the subject to be brought back up.

“I’ll ask her,” George decided, standing up to straighten out his top. He’d dressed in a navy blue crewneck over an Oxford, allowing the collar to pop out which created the bright contrast that his dark outfit needed. He’d matched his top half with a pair of black skinny jeans and a gold chain that looped from his belt to his wallet that had been tucked into his back pocket. 

“What time are you supposed to meet the professor at anyways?” Wilbur asked. “I’ve been up from my nap for an hour now and it’s almost twelve.” 

George looked at his watch. “I’m meeting him at two, after his class. We’re going to the cafe on the other end of campus.”

“You mean the one that’s the furthest from the one we were just at last week?” Wilbur smirked. “You’re not slick, Georgie.” 

He grimaced at the nickname, not enjoying the mental picture of that one clown devouring the child. It wasn’t that he hated horror films, it was that he  _ despised  _ them. He was a naturally jumpy person. He hated the dark, hated small spaces, and definitely hated demonic dancing clowns that hunted children for sport. 

“We’re going to that one because it's the closest to the studio, where we’re helping Fundy after,” he explained. “Because, you know, he has a car and I don’t. That way I can take the shuttle there and stay there and he can just drive. Simple.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Wilbur scoffed. “You know that Niki and I are going to Mulberry after her class and you wanted to be as far away from up as possible which means you’re going to have to suffer through subpar cold brew and the shitty plastic chairs they have at Carson’s.”

George rolled his eyes. Okay so maybe he had chosen to go to Carson’s because he didn’t want to have to run into Wilbur and Niki but the other thing he had said was true as well. It was more convenient for them to go be closer to the studio than not, seeing as George truly didn’t have his own reliable way of transport. 

“I happen to think the cold brew is fine,” he tried to defend his choice. It was a weak defense. He knew that and so did Wilbur, who just gave him a pointed look of semi-disappointment. 

“You hate their cold brew. You think it's too watery and shouldn’t even be classified as a proper way to get caffeine, period.”

Okay so that was true but it wasn’t like he could change venues last minute. Besides, Clay had seemed fine with the place of choice--even said something about how it’s where his parents met. It was a sweet story, really. His mum had been working a shift when his dad walked into her, literally, and spilled coffee all over her uniform. He’d offered to pay for her dry cleaning and that one moment sparked an entire life together that resulted in two children, one of which was a certified genius.

“I’m gonna go and,” George sighed heavily, finger already hovering over the bright red button, “get mentally prepared or whatever. I’ll see you guys at six.”

And with that, he hung up. Not even a moment later, there was a series of texts from Wilbur asking if he was alright. George knew that his friend meant well but between his near-crippling anxiety over creepy clowns and the constant mush of confusion in his mind, he needed to take some time to self-reflect. 

Sure, he’d done nothing but self reflect since Wilbur first started making jokes about him and their professor but when the butterflies started to stir in his stomach at the mere mention of Clay’s name, he knew he couldn’t go about ignoring whatever he was feeling for much longer.

And what Wilbur had said about the possibility of him being asexual wasn’t totally far-fetched either. Growing up, he never really felt sexually attracted to anyone. Not toward Jenny, not toward a random celebrity. Up until now, he’d disregarded it for his intense want to study and get good grades in an attempt to impress his parents. That coupled with the fact that he hadn’t even really known what asexuality really was until Niki came out to them limited his knowledge--of the term and of himself. 

He felt like he was missing out on a huge chunk of his own person. To be so uncertain about who he is or even who he was going to be. So far he knew he liked Clay even if to just have as a friend. The fact that he was his professor didn’t bother him all too much seeing as he was two years older than him but the nagging teachings of an educational program he’d watched in Upper Sixth did nothing to sooth his fears. 

Professor-Student relationships never worked out the way the movies made it out to be and this was due to the fact that one person always held a significant amount of power over the other no matter the situation. George being older meant nothing seeing as Clay still held that power, to pass or fail him from his class, which was part of the hesitance. In no universe would the relationship be healthy or reasonable if anything started now. 

And so he would wait, not that that was the challenge. If anything, it gave him more time to process who exactly he himself was and if he still felt this way about Clay come May… 

He’d just have to wait and see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayo whats up hope you liked this chapter
> 
> i'll be spending the day after this goes up answering comments so if you have any questions feel free to drop them there
> 
> and also a huge thanks to @jadeliis on twitter for providing feedback about asexuality and how i can create a genuine asexual character without speaking out over people as well as am politically correct about what i am putting out into the world
> 
> anyways love all the support you guys give me and i love yall, thank you for not giving up on this fic when i forgot to update it, hope these close updates can make up for it <3


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